


My Name Is A Killing Word

by all-or-nothing-baby (BundleOfSoy)



Series: I.O.U. [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (and therefore uses lots of), Biblical References, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Crying During Sex, Dom Jim Moriarty, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, First Time Blow Jobs, Idiots in Love, Jim Moriarty Being an Asshole, Jim Moriarty Has Feelings, Jim Moriarty Has Issues, Jim Moriarty Is A Tease, Jim Moriarty is a Little Shit, Jim Was Brought Up Harcore Irish Catholic, Laughter During Sex, M/M, POV Jim Moriarty, Sexy Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty Smut, Sherlock in Love, Soft Jim Moriarty, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, jim Moriarty in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21995632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BundleOfSoy/pseuds/all-or-nothing-baby
Summary: He's so funny. Not tothem. But to me, he's so funny.The first time I kissed him—up against a wall, John just around the corner, Sherlock taller than me but certainly feeling small—he was bait on my hook. So much so, I was sure he'd squirm as such. But he froze, a museum pillar ofWhat the Fuck?letting me taste Stiff Upper Lip whilst I tried to coax out a passion Iknewhe had buried inside. Then he whispered,Moriarty, like a question and it was hilarious. Hilarious because it was so infuriatingly Sherlock—and hilarious 'cause it was hot as naked sin, I remember thinking as I spirited away, giggling.ORThe first time Sherlock finally calls his nemesis by his given name. (Moriarty POV).
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Series: I.O.U. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583275
Kudos: 61





	My Name Is A Killing Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravyn_nevermore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_nevermore/gifts).



> This was borne of a brilliant headcanon dreamed up by the lovely ravyn_nevermore A.K.A. @all-things-andrew-scott on Tumblr; she imagined when, eventually, Sherlock calls his arch-enemy-turned-lover by his actual name--and it's somehow an even more powerful a thing than him uttering the words "I love you."
> 
> Thanks for the wonderful inspiration, lovely : )

He's so funny. Not to _them_. But to me, he's so funny.

The first time I kissed him—up against a wall, John just around the corner, Sherlock taller than me but certainly feeling small—he was bait on my hook. So much so, I was sure he'd squirm as such. But he froze, a museum pillar of _What the Fuck?_ letting me taste Stiff Upper Lip whilst I tried to coax out a passion I _knew_ he had buried inside. Then he whispered, _Moriarty_ , like a question and it was hilarious. Hilarious because it was so infuriatingly Sherlock—and hilarious 'cause it was hot as naked sin, I remember thinking as I spirited away, giggling.

The second time I kissed him—hastily, just before that irritating gnat of a human Lestrade was due to appear—he knew it was coming and he said it again, _Moriarty_ , as some sort of vague warning this time. I obviously laughed, heartily, seeing as he didn't even _try_ to stop me as I leaned in. That passion I'd found writhing around in his gut—a slithering Edenian snake—tempted him like he was the first made from Adam's blood-stained rib. I could _feel_ the thing, biding its time. When I tilted his head which I held in my hands and breached his lips with my tongue, he allowed the snake to strike, like pilfered wrathful lightning. Or maybe like a crazed Pokemon? I get easily confused by this stuff.

The third time I kissed him—under a bridge on the Thames where I'd asked him to be—again, he didn't move. Just sort of let it happen; let me feel my way around him, filling my senses with his _alive_ because me? I'm a ghost. I'm not dead yet but I'm not quite living either. Not like him. And nowhere near like _them_. And he knows that. So, this time, he let me hear his want, by the way he said it as I pulled away and he breathed _Moriarty_ , in a tone I'd not heard on his lips before. In a voice I'd never heard anyone use. And of course, I belly-laughed. Because it was so obnoxiously beautiful.

The fourth time I kissed him—having laid him down on my pure Egyptian cotton sheets—it was more than just a kiss. Yes, he was still so _still_ , still so Sherlock. But, you see, that's part of the pull; that bony body he holds captive being almost as delicious as his beyond brilliant, libertine mind. He let me undress him and I watched his face attempt to give away sweet eff-ay as I licked my lips at the feast before me; _mmmm_ , god, that lean carcass had hidden treasures not-so-lean, let me tell you. When he didn't stop me, I wrapped my lips around pure, solid gold, and I saw glass tears shatter in his eyes. I knew this was more than just sex, for him. For me too, apparently, because when he said it, my name, it was so _not_ funny—the fact that he hadn't called me _Moriarty_ —that I maybe cried too. Cried until I was laughing, actually, as I swallowed him down because he was trying his British best to be peeved at himself for giving in but just couldn't do it 'cause it all felt so, _so_ good. I knew it did because he kept saying it, my name. Like a filthy little single-syllable prayer. And then I laughed and cried some more because it was me who made him feel so much—not Molly, not John. _Me._ And it wasn't just my tip-top carnal gameplay in contrast to his widely lacking experience; not just my tongue offering adulation or my fingers finding debauched divinity, absolutely murdering his hesitation in cold blood… just me.

  
_Jim_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> For anyone who's interested, the title is a line of dialogue from Frank Herbert's novel, "Dune".
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated equally...
> 
> Lucy <3


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